


Still Mine

by Grinner_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4255692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	Still Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflower1343](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/gifts).



When it happens, he's passing you by. 

He's this blur of blond hair and blue jeans, sneakered feet thundering their urgent rhythm upon the sidewalk like a Travis Barker solo. 

He's zigzagging through workday crowds and everyday monotony; always running like he's got somewhere to be, something to get away from. 

You watch him - swift as bullets from a gun - and find yourself surprised to know you have no desire to chase him, to _cage_ him. 

As enthralling as this game used to be, you're presently content to let yourself just lag behind. 

_(Come find me, baby.)_

\--

When it happens, it's his knees upon the bed and his head between your legs. 

His lips brush light and tender over the scar on your right thigh. He kisses you in penitence, bright eyes searching your face like he's seeking absolution. 

Your fingers find their place in his hair, pull him up and up so you can crush your mouth aggressively against his - a warning, a _threat._

You're angry to learn that he finds it unthinkable you'd take a bullet - or several - for him.

_(Do you really think you mean so little to me?)_

\--

When it happens, he isn't even _there._

You've got your thumb hovering over his name on your phone's touch screen and this crazy incredulity thrumming bone-deep. _Call him. Don't call him._

And when you realize how stupid you probably look staring at your phone like you've got no idea how to use it, you slip it back into your pocket and return to staring out the train window, pretend you aren't missing him at all. 

_(If I could will myself back home right now, I would.)_

\--

When it happens, you've just turned fifty-three. 

You watch the subtle lines beside his mouth which weren't there eighteen years ago, the way his chest rises and caves with his every breath, that adorable way his hand curves around the edge of his pillow in his sleep. 

You watch that lone silver hair amid his light blond strands and think that he's grown more beautiful than when you first laid eyes on him. 

_(I don't ever want to know how to stop wanting you.)_

\--

When it happens, it _doesn't._

You find yourself looking at him, watching him smooth out the corners of the sheets, fluff the pillows like it's the most interesting thing in all the world. 

You look at him - still so beautiful, still so ebullient, still so quick-witted, still fucking _yours_ \- and realize that in all these years, you've never once told him what he's sometimes tried to tell you. 

And it's strange, really. 

Strange that you want him to know. Strange that you feel this pressing need to just fucking _say_ it.

Because you've always believed that you weren't meant to understand what real love feels like. 

But the truth is, you've known all along.


End file.
